Some Lockdown Day (November ish.)

I guess it Is only fair to start where most good things start… in 2021 sofa ridden and Merlot in hand.  It was a pleasant ring breaking up life’s current boredom.  The brief was not long or complicated but direct and straight to the point.  There would be a space opening up on the next Beyond the sump Expedition to the Huautla  Resurgence.  Fortunately, this big yes came just before the depths of the winter blues, giving me something to look forward too.  Which at the time was a very welcome relief.   In the coming weeks, some details were finalised, but logistics were happily fluid.  The most important factor for this trip to be a success, was to get another Credit Card!  Flights booked and ideas/ dreams circulating.  The adventure was parked for some months, entering the New Year came news that I would be accompanied by another British Diver. Ben of the North.   This was no major skin off my nose, the focus now came down to actually getting to Mexico City (MEX).

24^th March 2022 Acclimatisation 

After staggering off the plane in Mexico City, landing card and visa application in hand the introduction to long walks on this trip began after a minibus ride and a Thirty minute hike through the urban maze of Mexico City airport.  I arrived at the queue for customs and immigration.  Around 20 people from the front I aimed for the landing card….unfortunately this was no longer on my person!  This would be the first of many things that RT lost on this trip.  Cutting loses and hastily refilling the form with an annoying half height pencil whilst shuffling heavily laden hand luggage.  As it turns out I could have written the opening lines to any fictional story on the customs document and the customs officer would still have stamped me in.

Post flight security was fairly straight forward, only needing to repack my bags once after the scanner. The quick smile to the officer with a big gun, drew only a move faster look, hastily repacking the hold luggage and stacking the trolley.  Before any major progress could be made. Two more steps forward, pre sliding doors, my trolley was taken.  This inconvenience manifested itself as a large yawn.  For those of you familiar with expedition trave, you will appreciate the joys of being fully laden with close to 100kgs of luggage and no trolley!  For those of you happy enough not to need four bags worth of stuff I am envious.  Just make sure you can carry it!  The reluctancy to stray further than arms reach from the bags led to a new mentioned walk from the ministry.

As luck would have it the local taxi cab was in view.  Tired, sweaty and poorly acclimatised the air conditioning in the taxi was a welcome bliss.  The short hour transfer to my room was tranquil with my back seat position giving me a view of the borderline carnage happening outside.  Tensions grew as the destination grew closer and the streets narrowed, however taxis were never an issue for me in the city.  Booking a third floor room in a building with no lift was a tidy little warm up for the continued kit hauling in the month to come.  Although the upper staircase held on by what seemed nothing more than a hope and a prayer was still one of the most dangerous paths I walked during my time in Mexico.  It was the beginning of late now, around 22.30 local time, bolt upright awake my body clock thought it was around 10.00.  I decided the hunt for tequila was in order, a shower and a compass bearing started my first trip into the city.  By 23.00 I had established a front row seat to a local tribute band, the lead singer of which resembled a rather busty blonde version of Amy Winehouse.  Nursing the booze for three sets, the bar livened and songs continued.  I decided it would be an appropriate time to vacate as four cocks to one cat is not my preferred ratio.

Wandering anywhere in the offset blocked capital, it was impossible to ignore the vibrancy of the flowers.  Let alone shining actions of the people.  This would become standard in all reaches of the trip.

25^th March 2022 Holiday!

Feeling rather chuffed with myself for having extended my 21^st year by the best part of a day I awoke to the sweet smell of ganga being smoked on the roof.  Rising slowly, it was time to action my first adventure idea.  A birthday outing to the Solar and Lunar pyramids, located an hour North East of the city.  Wishing not to digress into every detail of the rock structures, what I will say is that they are quite marvellous.  Almost imaginable as giant sea reptiles from times forgotten.  Finding good levels of peace on the exterior path away from all the people on their tick box outings; all in this was to be the most holiday like day for the next month.  My lack of Spanish became apparent when trying to catch the bus back to MEX, I was hopeful but not convinced that I was on the right bus, sat in the very front, a glass seatbelt for comfort. It was found amusing that the steering wheel, drove straight, whilst positioned at 3 o-clock.  The driver knowing little of the purpose of the middle pedal, I was very relieved to start recognising roads again.  Making it back to the bus depot alive was a serious achievement in my mind.  Soon walking down, the streets of the city raining purple, returning close to my room in just a few short hours.

Ben of the north would be arriving the day after tomorrow so my solo adventure would shortly become a team effort.  With mixed feelings on this and a sore set of feet, I took a well needed nap in preparation for a later dinner.  My first day of acclimatisation had walked me over 20km.  Only a short portion of this was in short sleeves, even so I closely resembled a rhubarb and custard squishy. More building hunting followed the next day. After a stop for Sun cream and Aloe Vera!  Ben rang in a timely manner and I met him at the accommodation gate.  Looking equally as tired and sweaty as me.  Although to him the third floor room was a surprise, which amused me briefly, until my plan backfired heavily when he handed me his largest bag.  Still, it was comfortable and secure enough for our purposes.  With a pleasant roof, hammocks and sofas scattered the area, in varying levels of shade.  All was working out well!

My knowledge of Ben was not vast, we had met a handful of times but in no detail did we discuss anything of note.  Some of his diving, in France, was known to me.  Working tourist projects in the Dordogne/Lot area. However, at a personal level I was blind.  As such we spent the next 24 hours bumbling around MEX getting to know one another a little. Likely in preparation for diving together in the coming weeks.  Our tour aided by Alex, a valued member of the Beyond the Sump team (fixer) who due to work and Covid restrictions was unable to join us travelling south. Never the less she was a welcome tour guide. Getting us accustomed to public transport.  Ben showed great patience in the que for the assent of a converted telecoms tower.  The view was amazing and well worth the wait

Time constraints meant we missed some of the lower floors.  Be that as it may there was little time to dwell as it was time to find our coach.  This meant returning back to our room gather our belongings and get an uber to the coach station.  We learnt there is two bus terminals in the City north and south.  Second time lucky, we made the evening coach to Tehuacan where we would meet the Americans the following day.  The time passed reasonably on the six hour bus ride, made better by the ever changing scenery from urban jungle to city mountains to desert, desertyer mountains and finally mountains proper.  Even from the road view there would be some serious climbing potential.  The sun set with an hour’s drive left so, we arrived in darkness, bags collected in Tehuacan.  Again, in need of comfort, the first of the north south divide became apparent on the short taxi ride to the hotel.

At first glance this hotel seemed to be an empty shell of a building!  With no Spanish on tap understandably Ben was showing signs of stress.  Asking for a photo of my packaged self in the back was a stretch too far.  So I did what any self-respecting explorer would do in the 21^st Century and took a selfie.  I was quick to explain the importance of photographing events on this trip to which Ben gave zero fucks, a true privateer, in some ways quite respectable although absolutely no use to my cause.  I did not know it yet, but the Mega Victoria (beer) purchased from the hotel reception would set a rather costly and go happy tone for the next month, but now only tacos were on the agenda.  A fully body weight serving later and two more mega beers tranquillity was back in equilibrium.

 28^th March 2022 The Meet & Greet

The following morning brought with it a whole new set of challenges.  Birthday cake and bog roll.  A leisurely morning spent gathering the necessities for life in a remote little village, the idea of the scale of things was starting to hit me and become very real; the Americans only an hour away. 

Ben and I had done shopping, packed up the room and had our final hot shower for a while.  Now the waiting game, with two Brits desperate for shade, sitting with intrigue on the pavement wondering what would be waiting for us around the corner.

Arriving first, with what looked like a full truck, was John and SJ.  First impressions were quickly made; the social politics of expedition life are brutal, simple as.  John fitting the bill perfectly for the stereotypical Mexican dive instructor, dark tan, shoulder length hair baring his pearly whites with a firm handshake. 

SJ quickly hopped around from her feet up position with a borderline busted ankle and a pained look on her face.  Greeting her exactly the same way as the rest of the team, “That doesn’t look good!”

Actually, knowing pitifully little about this group heading into this adventure was both a blessing and a curse.  At least with the GUE divers I knew there would be a foundation for standards underwater so I was not worried about diving with them.  Soon after this the F-350 pulled up.  I’d never seen an F-350 before and my initial words were, “what a beast.”  Already bulging and in effect an entire dive operation on wheels plus a cursedly sized cabinet.

On the teams arrival, the greetings were brief with little time for pleasantries we loaded up our luggage which was a mission in itself.  Bags strapped and boots locked I rode with GUE united while Ben hopped into the yank-mobile.

Next stop was a small town on the outskirts of the Oxaca region forward (South) was only mountains the same to both east and west.  Due to poor prior preparation, I found myself with a wallet full of dollars rather than the local peso. This was a problem.  I set off to the money exchange alone to rectify this omission.

This led to one of my more fragile times on the trip.  Boxed into this little green building by a couple of heavies, using my best broken English the message that I wanted local currency got across.  Handing my passport and $500 to my new friend quickly felt like a mistake.  Using a makeshift mask there was a tense fifteen minutes as the dude tried to fit UK passport numbers into Mexican forms – the numbers did not fit!  Three Seniors later there was peso on the desk which was a welcome relief.  Three signatures later I managed to regain my passport escaping with money and property intact.  Some time had passed since I had split from the group so you can imagine my initial thoughts when I returned to the trucks to see my bags no longer strapped to the back.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed as Zeb and Andreas had instructed, they be placed inside.  Still no sign of friends I gained some hydration and awaited their return.  Alas Ben saved me and guided us to the chosen taco shop.

The conversation over dinner oozed powerplays; everyone sizing each other up.  Andreas and Zeb both showing exemplary diplomacy skills as team leaders, focused far more on dinner than this boisterous behaviour afoot at the table, still listening intently.  Bill paid, tacos done and sun lowering we got back on the road.  An hour’s more tarmac, then desert roads for Three.  The cacti were pretty, but the road was long and increasing exposure escalated with every minute an accident here would likely result in a pack of cigarettes and a hand gun; diving related or other.  48 ponies’ later we rolled into Santa Anna.

The minimal night time lights appeared from the dark pockets of mist; late now with the day not yet done we worked hard to unload the truck for the sleeping equipment and the first assortment of kit.  Bed equals eyes shut and as much decompression as possible.  I found where applicable a clear head in the mornings went a long way.  The 2nd was a calm day, the field house was in working order by lunch, with everyone prepping rebreathers for the days to come, spending longer on the JJ to accommodate different valves, but damn did she look sexy in red.  By 16.00 we had a working plan for the following day; Andreas and I would lay line in Sump 1 and rig the waterfall for transit.  Steve would survey and install the dropped bail out at the halfway point.  The drinks came in as we enjoyed the colourful sky beginning to darken over the mountains.  About one quarter through my pink boing drink (a fruit pulp concoction) I felt odd.  As I continued to nurse this delicious beverage, which I had enjoyed in the city something was seriously off.  A lay down did nothing to help, some water maybe?  Two gulps later and it was clear what was going to happen.  Making it to the door of the bunk room before the projectile hit my teeth, desperate not to spew all over the freshly prepared food, grasping my face with force only a trickle made it through the gap.  Almost floating to the outer room, one step outside the kitchen and the volcano could be dormant no longer.  The airbrush painting effect on the opposite wall, a good metre away, was no Banksy but defiantly thought provoking.  This was to be the start of a long night.  After the sixth eruption I took myself out of rotation for diving the next day.  John would take my place.

Skipping dinner, I rested until the early hours when the tax man came knocking with a vengeance.  Impressed with my reaction times to avoid the inside of the kitchen, with now mostly bile projectile. Stuck in the limbo of being desperately dehydrated whilst still uncorked from both ends. The sun rise came, still unable to keep anything but water down we set off for the canyon after an eggy breakfast.  Even feeling a bit rough nothing will explain the beauty of these karst mountains, hills like I had never seen before.  For use of the mountain path into the canyon we needed permission from the commissaro, in effect, the farmers committee needed to grant us access, which as yet they had not done.  Winging it on a ‘manyana’ attitude we descended the thousand feet to the valley floor.  Due to all of the things that Mexico is famous for, the politics are extremely delicate.  As a general rule cavers are thought of as outsiders, the fate of unwelcome outsiders and who they involve makes dying in a cave look like the easy option.

Two six man loads later, the first team of divers had adequate supplies to reline Sump 1.  Feeling better for the walk, but not 100%, not diving today was my only option.  The remaining surface team made another run in the midday sun which was rather regrettable.  It was a windless day and bloody hot, but time waits for no-one.  The first day’s diving had been a great success.  Sump 1 relined “for survey” transit lines in place and Steve had collected a full set of data.  After all exploration without data is just adventure.

They would be my biggest dives to date. By some margin, exposure and remoteness considered. Reaching the turn point, established at 40m, I was wide eyed by the amount of line littering the sump, five expeditions worth.  By the time we reached the surface we both had football sized line balls which to be fair hardly scratched the surface.

Diving in rotation is the only way to make this project work.  Thus for the month I was there, I along with everyone else, could count the dives undertaken on both hands.  But with this down time, when not lugging kit or being too lazy to move from one of the handful of good napping spots, gave time to really connect with the environment.  I shan’t go into the hippy dippy stuff, but that canyon had an energy that was not always positive, easy or life supporting. This was highlighted on day 3’s diving, so far to this point everything had moved smoothly.  Myself, Andreas and Zeb were to continue to reline Sump 2 after Steve and John’s swimming efforts the day before, hopefully to the Cheeky MonkeyPassage, 1.6km from base.  The first of today’s stern words began in the Waterfall Room.  Zeb knowing that team skills and diving skills needed to be better by a good margin for us to get through Sump 2.  I was leading, Andreas following with Zeb in a floater position.  At around 50m depth, just shy of the swimmers tied off line reel, I remember feeling space aged thinking if I die here that would be OK.  This quickly passed and was replaced with fucking hell I’m going to die here.  I’m a long way from home.  With focus now sharpened I tied the reel off at 55m, having never laid line on a scooter before and only dived with Zeb once and Andreas never, passing the 1km mark, my previous penetration limit, I was rather on edge.

Composed but on edge. Jenny JJ working faultlessly, the elbow at 65m was passed.  Having grown rather tired of stuffy light signals from behind, when he flashed me again, task loading dictated that this light spasm was ignored.  It was a surprise when Andreas bolted with no real communication.  Meeting Zeb at 55m on the far side of the elbow who obviously closer to Andreas than I, left immediately in search.  At this point I am alone, no trust in the team returning for me, racking up some deco, all I can add about this moment is that I am glad my pee valve was open.  Dumping the reel just shy of the little triangle it was a relief to see Zeb returning through the cloud.  We aborted and cruised out in minimal vis.  Not happy that it had been used, but relieved the bail out had done its job.  120 minutes later we met a startled looking Andreas stood on the waterfall.  Knowing the use of the team bail out was a big setback, the first thing to do was establish that everyone was OK.  The ‘what happened’ conversation gave no pleasing answer and would be discussed in detail over dinner.  The day was ageing now so we cut losses and returned over the waterfall with as much gas we could carry to be refilled back at base.  The exit plan was simple, I lead, Andreas in the middle with Zeb at the rear.  This lasted for a moment until AK decided a faster swim speed was appropriate, yet again leaving us for dust I think he was trying to break Connor Roe’s Sump 1 speed record.

I was not prepared for a dive at that speed; Sump 1’s profile is challenging at best with multiple ascents and descents to a maximum depth of 20m – not the ideal profile after a big dive.  I found Sump 1 to be relatively relaxing if not a pain. Giving me good time to process the antics of Sump 2, this feeling continued throughout the month.  An extra five minute safety stop in daylight would have been nice, however concerns for the missing member allowed us no such luxury.  Unknown to us at the time, this was the first dive of the Fuckening (other names not fit for print!)  I had little to say that evening whilst processing the dramas of the day.  The conversation was flowing although mainly in relation to the cylinders which needed filling.

3rd April 2022 Make or Break

The following day was an early start, which I had no issue with as the earlier start meant cooler temperatures; well received with the heavy load.  Some mis-decision led to a Flex CCR being dived, weighting issues meant that yet again the dive was turned sooner than planned.  Progress was made, but the 1.4km of full stroke mode only added to the Fuckening.

The little wins are all you get given when the plans are not working efficiently.  Put nicely by Steve, “Some pretty hard people have been here and failed to make any progress, we will have to suffer an equal amount if not more than those that have been before. To make any progress.”  For those that are not familiar with stroke mode, if survived, it is customary to drink away the sorrows. Heavily.  Reasonable volumes of whiskey later the mood had improved.

Strategic rest days are the absolute key for a successful and safe expedition; a bittersweet feeling that the day is wasted but pleased for the rest after allowing the essential time to sort kit.  After Steve’s dive with John he had his first sense of humour failure, demanding a dive with Zeb which was reasonable considering that they had done the most together, both conducting serious dives in Florida and elsewhere.  I took this with a pinch of salt as diving with Zeb did inspire a warm fuzzy feeling which I was lacking from others in the group.  If Huautla taught me nothing else it was patience, as it happened every dive was a steep learning curve.

The boys made it through Sump 2 with some difficulty route finding, the maze-like structure of the far reaches of the sump, were remembered differently but found none the less. Leaving the ‘11m lead’ for the next team.

“This could be the peak of your cave diving career.” Standing heavy on the shoulders of giants myself and Andreas headed in using the sharp nerves for focus I narrowly avoided being washed over the waterfall as one of the towing cylinders was sucked in, pinning me to the sharp rock.  Andreas was helpful in this by telling me what the problem was then needing prompting to help with it.  We bombed through Sump 2 passing the elbow and ascending into the labyrinth.  At the bottom of Jason’s Eyes well in the Don’t F*** it Zone.  With a web of lines in every available space I collected the 50% and towed it to the shallows for its appropriate resting place.  Decompressing off to surface for a chat and replan we waited twenty-ish minutes before aiming for the remembered 11m lead.

40 minutes of searching found little more than a Swiss cheese inlet at 11m.  When put into perspective it seems like a pitiful amount of time spent searching there however after numerous failed attempts tensions underwater were increasing, still over a kilometre from home we decided it was time to foxtrot Oscar and would come back another day.  This mystery 11m lead played God over the following days, dictating every decision with prospects of kilometres of bore hole just in sight.

There was no such lead….

The area of the 11 metre hopes and glory was scoured hard by every diver that passed it.  The conclusion was a subtly obvious one, three ways to camp the previous expedition must have been looking at a loop not a continuation of the cave.  This discovery was a serious blow to morale.  Especially as a troubled memory from Andreas was one of the main reasons for the return trip to this cave!  However you don’t know what you don’t know!

Fortunately, we had made friends with local alchemist, whose speciality was creating fire water.  A closer buzz to less legal substances than conventional liquor.  One large gulp would see you still wobbling five hours later; ideal for a cocktail party paired with the Victoria and the bloody Mezcal (cactus liquor.) Team spirits regrouped the drinking continued to my peril!

8th April 2022 where’s the cat?

A planned rest day gave far too much confidence in my ability to avoid a hangover.  The morning following this silly silly behaviour defiantly should have been a hair of the dog type day.  Stumbling into the kitchen after sleeping through the bells I was faced with last night’s dinner.  Not amused at this culinary disaster, as I have never before not remembered spewing.  As seen by my facial expression in the below capture.  I am still not convinced it was even mine.  A set-up I say.  I didn’t drink so much after that.

The rest day quickly evaporated with a late burst of energy loading the dry tubes and associated equipment for tomorrow’s proposed camp.  Although not pretty I was feeling ready for the task ahead in the following days.

To camp underground requires a massive effort.  Any one wrong move, choice or action can break the camel’s back without warning.  This happened with a large pressure bomb on my left side, on the second to final ascent in Sump 1.  The dry tube, containing food and camping supplies, had sprung a leak, pressurised at depth then exploded in faultless style on ascent. Scattering the contents into the flow.  Crashing into the floor in a state of bewilderment I hastened to collect the food and camping gear, managing this, reattaching the lid, the Andreas catch-up routine continued.  Knowing this was the end of this camp attempt was a total blow, the third fuckening returned us to base with bad news.  Greeted at the water by an understandably upset and annoyed team there was significant pressure to do the planned camp as a long day trip which myself and Andreas did not like.  Weighing up to the odds it came down to our headspace now not being in a big day out.  It was a tense and disappointing few hours.  The best gauge of the day was how silent the steam back up the canyon was, it was the second quietest of the month.

One selfish upside to this was not missing dinner at the Cheve camp where Bill Stone imparted some lessons on advanced cave exploration techniques. Post dinner led to the decision of another forced rest day to establish a bomb proof plan and keep goals in sight.

Having been invited by the local officials to the seemingly significant rural event.  Massive mountain shin dig.  The rest day timed nicely enough for some cultural time…  Deciding the party would be best tackled in small doses, the shear volume of people was quite overwhelming in such a confined village.  I was however mildly irritated they did not do the Bull run. I thought that would have been very sporting indeed! Sooner than we would have liked, after a terribly disturbed sleep, we were back crossing rivers in the canyon.  Heavy loads were taken to make up for lost time accumulated over the last few days.

Fortunately, we were in a position, to send divers off for a long day to see what could be accomplished.  After Zeb, John, and Steve set-off with their Lola valves, it left me and Ben to do some videography; Andreas as director which was a nice dive and a needed building block to better underwater communication.  By this time SJ’s ankle was functional and she had completed some shakedown dives on her larger-than-life rebreather.  Taking past losses on the chin, waving the team of 2 Cavers and a Diver off into the distance.

Some video work in sump 1 became priority.  Ben and I doing our very best classic diving to be hung in the halls of cinematic history… or so we imagined.  As Video dives go, this one was rather pleasant.  Filling the day with another little victory.  As this unfolded Steve made the first ascending dives in Surprise Sump bringing home mixed results.  As well as establishing gold star sump which as it turned out were closer relatives than we had hoped for.  Channelling the SClop’s energy (you will have to ask the listed Americans about this strange bearded lady type)! Unfortunately, borehole eluded the team.  Just some mild confusion due to the complex nature of the water paths in the far reaches of the cave.  Confirming some suspicions left by the Brits on the 2017 Expedition.

13th April 2022 Temper Tantrums

The cherry on the cake was plump and oozing, the day of the first “official” photo dive, like toxic waste.  In the midst of longer than wanted dry spell I planned to complete my needs for the photo dive and then have an initial dive in the HR resurgence.  This was toppled by the fixation and lack of ability to adapt from certain members.  Mindset tranquillity was at this point not just out of balance it had been left in Tulum.  Playing out as it did, none of the day’s objectives were achieved due to the rear suspension (shearing) on the truck.  An easy fix with the right parts, it was decided we would abort the day and get fixing.  Gagging not to have another wasted day I was keen to get on with the objectives, but this was overruled.  As far as emotional peaks go this was it – fuming at the multiple situations the day had thrown at us, I could have quite happily been left in the canyon smashing rocks together.

Not a single word was spoken on the upwards journey back to base.  Mega marshmallows, sold in the local shop, went some way to help individual Moods.  Mine included.

The day burns quickly when the truck is bust, fortunately camping equipment was all in order so Zeb and Steve focused on getting the truck fixed in the neighbouring town.  Even with the right tools it took a combined effort to get the seized part off.  The team returned late afternoon, a day later than the initial break, now with a working truck and the show went on.

Chest Mount/Side mount ‘R’us departed 18.00 on the 14th with enough rations for four nights camping.  Sad not to have been able to camp in Mexico, I smiled through gritted teeth and loaded up  the still mostly full line reels.  Some weight checks for the tubes and final adjustments saw them leaving within the hour.

Now to play the waiting game.  Making the most of the dive time remaining my main focus was getting in the HR resurgence, although a distinct lack of support from the remaining members proved challenging but not impossible.  Not regrettably I had pretty much burned all bridges leading to the camera, being mostly too stubborn to apologise in an ‘appropriate’ manner.  “My best attempt at this was mainly heart felt” I was still keen to help with photography, however the reception was cool.

At peace with that fact, it was an uphill battle to get things done.  Ben became the new photo pet.

16th April 2022 I smell Borehole!

Meat snacks and a good sleep later it was finally time to branch out.  I did expect some support carrying kit in from Cave Diving Group (CDG) member, but he was busy sunbathing.  So, no such luck from him.  John’s contribution was lending me his side mount harness, crucial but no less heavy.  Pack packed, I ventured upstream alone.  Nothing about this was easy going, even with a swim from shore to the cliff edge leading to subterranean. (Please see HR diver reports for full run down.)

The long and short of it goes as follows: Sump 1, 2 and 3 were passed taking in formations and chambers.  The continuation into Sump 4 was stopped by an empty line reel; flow pumping.  The decision was made to return to Huautla resurgence to reload the line reel, let the vis clear whilst surveying inwards and continue to push Sump 4.  That I did, loading the knotted line onto the empty reel.  I took a moment to pause and consider how hard to push the day!  The nature of this cave;  Demanding conservative planning and near perfect cave senses.  Enough can turn into very little very quickly.  Decisions balanced, I was not sad to have left the skin-clad divers in the pool, they showed some support in meeting me at the cave entrance on my return, all be it lacking a camera.

Although thankful none the less for them carrying some gear back from the entrance, an entrance shot photo would have left a sweeter taste.

Once back at the Huautla resurgence.  The kit faff continued; as everything was packed up and I had stripped out of my J2’s & Deepskin John.  Fortunately, modesty was maintained behind a rock as the entire host family, all 17 of them, turned up to our shock and pleasant surprise.  At first a few faces and then the rest swarmed around the corner.  Speechless and naked I let the others do the meet and greet.  What is significant to understand in this situation is that the local people dislike water, the rivers at least, so for all seventeen of them to make it here crossing no less than three fast moving bodies of water was a seriously impressive achievement. 

Babies carried, toddlers lifted, and the elderly supported.  Once at the cave they were all keen to see where the water came from, but our dive base was not on flat ground so our next objective came in the form of passing people up the entrance climb, over the rocks and down the sharp descent to the water.  The most senior of this party led, followed by wives, sisters, brothers and kids.  I was very happy to see the family here, however I was brutally aware of the thousands of pounds worth of equipment that littered the cave floor.  Fortunately, half the team were underground camping at this point so only four rebreathers and associated gubbins were laying around.

Carefully the round tour of the resurgence began.  

First down over the razor steps and on down to the still sharp rock bench leading to the water with comfortable standing space for maybe ten souls.  It got busy with seventeen of them and four of us each posted to a more technical part of the route, helping with the climbing and ensuring that rebreathers were not knocked or stepped on.  Jenny JJ sat pride of place at the bottom of the current train’s exit, as such I was twitching until everyone had passed. The last up this climb was the grand-daughter.  A roman handshake and a tug later she rose, unfortunately the moment she moved I lost all sense of the word balance crushing her fingers under heavy boots. Not ideal.  Hurrying to help her up and hoping no digits were broken, fortunately her young bones were fine.  All this drama, did not however go unnoticed by Grandpapa, who was quick to suggest a coupling.  Taken aback by this I smiled sweetly and resembled a wide eyed goldfish.  The young woman, mostly in her late teens, blushed and ran back to her sisters.  I had no intention of marriage on this trip!

With the sun dropping below the canyon a quick group photo was snapped.  The entire group conveyed back towards home.  All in turn helping the young and the old over the hot rocks and deep rivers.  They really did not like water.  Much to our surprise about two thirds of the way back to our truck we found a smouldering fire and tents, guided by the elders it seemed it was time for pre-dinner, courtesy of the whole family.  Blankets laid and fire stoked, armed with Mexican fizz in two litre bottles our surprise picnic was a total blessing.  We were fed with homemade culinary excellence and some of the nicest flavours I have ever tasted in a tortilla wrap.   Resting for longer than planned whilst the sunstroke settled on one of the little ones, half an hour of shade later he rallied, and the show went on.  

Camp now packed and rubbish burnt only one river crossing remained.  The four of us ended up shuffling supplies and then children across the river.  Not falling over on those slippery rocks in waist deep water was hard enough at the best of times, let alone with the added pressure of carrying a child.  The whole family, and us now back on relatively solid ground was a relief to say the least.  The canyon was hard, broken ankles or twisted knees a serious risk.  All in awe of their efforts and hospitality, brave and wild people live in the karst.  One damn good Easter.

Four new sumps and improved relations with our hosts, what a mind-bending day that was.  Topped off with the 70% proof fire water, which was like drinking liquid lead.  Another excellent meal from chef SJ completed the day as a highlight so far

 My desire to return to the HR the next day was strong, however a little niggle was playing on my mind which I had not manage to shake by the time I had managed to carry equipment to the entrance.  I am still unclear as to what was telling me ‘No’, but it worked out for the best.  It turned out this could not have been a better decision as less than a couple of hours later the camping team returned a day early. Good things happen to those who wait, It was pleasing to see the team back safe.  Even more so not to be totally broken for a heavy walk back to the truck. In this time I also managed to find my wallet containing all my cards and money which at this point had been lost for over a week.  All in all a bloody lucky find.  With a shriek of joy filling the cavern a moment later the light show of returning divers began.

The campers surfaced with no sign of Hill 400, just answered questions.  All of the sumps in Cheeky Monkey passage had been dived and confirmed as loops or impassable Swiss cheese, not suitable for diving.   With the knowledge that camping on this expedition was now complete the mountain of dry tubes and stuff was passed up out of the water for packing and continued character development.  Using the super-secret cave cascade to top off the 7’s (45’s in freedom units)

for John and I’s dive in the Huautla resurgence tomorrow. 

18th April 2022 Hydration packs

Having not really seen eye to eye with John for some weeks now it was a curious time to see how the dive would play out.  The morning quickly came around with everything prepped the day before, we entered the water efficiently making our way to the far side of Sump 2 in around eighty minutes.  Little more than essential communication between myself and John was mustered.  Although after the retrieval of the illusive hydration pack, lost days before, John’s mood did lighten.  Nothing but the real thing, prepares you for the joys of post sump caving, especially in ace passage like this.

The round tour of the Cheeky monkey passage was completed including the climb into the Dead Sea, confident it was climb described, but unfortunately no Dead Sea was found.  The DFZ feels even closer when twenty metres off the deck, trusting flaky flowstone with your life.  Down climbing is always sketchier than up climbing and this was no exception.  Heart in mouth moment came when the rock in my left hand crumbled, catching nothing but a tiny calcite nub with my thumb.  Another cigarette and hand gun moment.   Making sand angels on the beach before re donning our dive equipment felt like a sensible move! Sand removed we were ready to dive.  I will be the first to admit I was task loaded on the way back through sump 2, not to the point of failure, but nothing was pretty.  Only a foolish person would turn a blind eye to the lifetime of CCR hours of my buddy.   Loaded with 5 cylinders apiece by the time we got to the decompression stops close to the waterfall.  I was busy trying to make sense WTF was going on around me whilst John just breezed it, in an annoying but respectable form.  Not sure my performance there would have earned me a fundies ticket.